broken

The listing read "Stitch me back together." It was a hand-turned vessel, made from grapevine, that had cracked under pressure.  It caught my attention. I am drawn to finding beauty in broken things because I am a broken thing. If we were to have a show of hands, I'm probably not the only one.

So it was that I adopted this broken vessel as a kind of self-portrait.

When it arrived, I discovered 'FRAGILE' apparently means something like 'Please shake til glass breaks' in post office speak. The test tube had shattered. While it retained its shape, it would not retain water. What's more, it was not keen on leaving its cozy wood lodgings; it was stuck. The two vessels were broken individually and together. 

Yesterday, I finally found a chance to sit alone with 'myself' and consider the broken vessel. 

Before contemplation: 

I started to use gold paint with kintsugi in mind, but rather quickly had a different inspiration.

After contemplation: 

Faults hold worlds only appreciated by drawing near.

I wanted the shattered glass to find redemption, too. I fashioned a small candle from a trimmed wick and the scrapings of soft wax from a candle. I let my little light shine. 

You'll notice that the light is most visible where the vessel is most splintered. 

When the flame was extinguished, a beautiful, relaxing smoke curled up and up for the longest time. I do love that smoky scent. I could burn incense here too, if incense smelled good. 

I am eagerly awaiting the next package from my woodworking friend, Brock. It is a bowl with a hole already in it! 

Though most of his work does not come pre-blemished, you should check out his wares.

But I call dibs on the misfits. 

The Hospitality Room

   

I let my full weight fall against Burger King's heavy glass door and pushed against it. By nature a fairly passive person, I knew the door would absorb my unusually forceful shove with no loss of dignity. I even imagined it welcomed me a little. Better doors than people. (or...doors are better than people?)

   We were en route to the bedside of a very sick relative and I knew we may not make it in time to say good bye.

   Over the course of the morning, I had morphed into a tiny black rain cloud, prone to outbursts like thunder claps and sudden showers that washed away any semblance of "strength".

    Once inside the ladies room,  I wiped away what streaked mascara could be budged and sighed a prayer of "please".

   I wasn't praying for extra time. I wasn't praying to get there. I was praying for peace and that all would be well with my uncle...soul wise...you know..."It is well...it is well...with my soul." And I was praying for my aunt who will most notice the drought of his showered affections.

   Back inside the car, I learned that my uncle had taken his leave. Just that quick. How closely my praying and his passing coincided, I'll likely never know, but there was a certain proximity that is hard for a person like me to ignore. 

   A person like me how exactly? I'm not sure there are words for that but... I keep the fortunes from my cookies sometimes if that helps.

The cloud expanded, showers persisted.

I'd lost my Keillor comrade, my Alaskan liaison. 89 is a long life, but not long enough for me to have gotten to hear all the stories I wanted to hear, have the conversations I wished to have. At Christmas, I'd known he knew we may be seeing each other for the last time- I'm the girl that rarely gets back home. He brought me his Clancy collection and some other books. We talked about kindles and nooks and the smell of old books. I told him I'd send him a copy of my friend's new book, a link to an NPR app. We hugged, said 'I love you' - not the worst farewell. But none of them are ever good.

   I was a sad little rain cloud.

   From the back seat came an urgent cry " I needago potty!" Rye's 4. She waits til the last possible minute. Preschool bladders have no regard for sombre moments.

   We stopped at the Nickel Pumper in Estill. She was wiggling she had waited so long. We got to the restroom but found an out-of-order sign on the door.

   "No other bathroom?" I asked the hunched over lady at the register. She grunted out something with a negatory sound and I saw that she wouldn't have the location of the employee restroom tortured out of her by the sight of a desperate little girl. She was indifferent to our plight.

   I scooped up my urgent urchin and made a bee line for... I wasn't really sure...but we had to get there fast wherever we were headed.

   Directly across from the filling station was an auto parts store. There were several men out front so I figured it was open. For the same reason -the all male cast out front- after I'd covered nearly half the distance, I heard my late grandfather's admonition "Might be dangerous for a lady."  Actually, he was shaking his head... but I knew exactly what he meant.

   I scanned the surrounding businesses, a Chinese restaurant to the left - no clear sign that they were open. Nothing else nearby held the promise of plumbing, no where else had a glowing neon OPEN sign like the auto parts store. Besides, we were at the front door now. No turning back.

   "Excuse me, sir" I approached the counter. He had already begun putting his conversation on pause when he saw me approaching. His customer was from Beaufort and it was clear that this shop owner knew his customers, is counted amongst their trusted friends. "Do you have a restroom this wee one might use? We stopped across the street but it is out of order."

   "You are welcome here ma'am. They've been playing that same game over there for twenty years."

   He excused himself from the customer and led us through the long shelves of auto parts inventory to the facilities we were so desperately in need of by this point.

   I've got to tell you...this bathroom was not only welcoming, it was downright cozy. Clean and well stocked, it smelled nice and was stylishly decorated. Not at all what one might expect to find in a place where motor oil is sold and men come in wearing it on their clothes.

   This surprise mingled with our gratitude at being granted admission had the effect of turning an ordinary, tasteful restroom in to a haven of rest.

   The antique sewing machine that served as a shelf also contained an "Our Daily Bread" booklet...Ah! Perhaps we are family...that would explain the undeniable feeling of welcome. I admit, I picked it up, let it fall open, looking for a glimpse of encouragement, a little silver to guild my edges.

   As Riley washed her hands, I thought about what I could possibly buy in this parts store. It is my standard road trip protocol to patronize whatever establishment we have made a pit-stop at. I always feel terribly guilty if I don't. I decided I would at least ask the gentleman's name and try to cast an eye about for something I recognized, to purchase.

   I introduced myself, he was Gary he said. I gave a brief overview of the travel situation that had led to us coming in to his store. I told him that his kindness, especially in the face of this bleak day, had been like a soothing balm. I thanked him and told him that if I knew what to buy, I certainly would purchase something.

   He objected at that. Absolutely not necessary.

"Anytime you're thru this way, you are welcome here." He realized that we may pass through again on our return trip (Estill is sort of a junction between country roads and cotton fields) He reiterated his warm welcome and sent me on my way with a business card.

As I crossed the road back to the Nickel Pumper, this quote ran through my mind:

"So shines a good deed in a weary world."

~ Willy Wonka. 

 

I felt hugged at a time when I really needed a hug...not that I would ever admit to needing anything...ever.

When I looked that quote up, I learned a slightly different version actually first appears in The Merchant of Venice...Willy Shakespeare.

So, now, I have to read MoV in the near future...just as soon as I can find a companion reader's guide to help me translate. Or perhaps I should see it on stage. (Uncle Roy loved the arts)  

Until then, I'd like to channel my best Paul Harvey voice to tell you that when you shop at your friendly C & N Auto Parts in Estill, SC you are shopping with good folks. With old fashioned customer service, fair pricing, quality work and staff who treat you like family, C & N Auto Parts in Estill,SC is a store that is worth the drive. So, stop by C & N Auto Parts for any and all of your automotive needs, and tell Gary I say hello. He's good people.

Sunday Best

The real problem with a hard-hitting, right-on-the-money-Sunday-morning-sermon is my propensity to quote parts of it against my fellow man (and myself) for the rest of the week.

 I don't think that's how they're supposed to work.

Leave Space For Grace, Kelly. 

(Ah yes...I've heard she was quite the dancer.) 

Father's Day

PaPa and Grandkids @ Waycross 2013

This is one of those days that leave me tongue tied.

Not for a lack of good things to say. Rather for trying to find a new way to say what is good and true and known and noteworthy about the man that is my father.

And then to repeat that quest for the man whose Adventures in Fatherhood I get to watch in 'real time' as he plays dad & hero to my crew of 4.

Words just fail me, that is all.

Lots of people, in assorted tributes today,  have pointed out  what makes a man a good man- qualities that carry over into their fatherhood, making them, by default, good dads.

Then there are folks who talk about what was missing- either because Time robbed them or because certain qualities or values escaped their fathers (like sobriety.) These people too, are affirming that a good man makes for a good father. Also that those of us blessed to have our father still living here amongst us are truly blessed.

I think that what makes a list about any given father special are those things that only a child or wife would be able to list... the things that others may not know about or spend enough time to see...

So, though the day is drawing to a close and though I've already bumbled through calling my dad and trying to say what words can't capture...and even though we had a nice lunch with Clay and made a batch of cookies to mark this special day-  I thought I'd try to share something specific about each man on my respective lists.

The place we had lunch with Clay today has a small stocked pond in back. I took Rye out to see the fish after we ate. There was a large fish swimming all by his lonesome... I say his because he was OBVIOUSLY The Incredible Mr. Limpett. 

Looked just like him...

Which brings me to my dad.

No, my dad doesn't look like Limpett.

My dad introduced me to The Incredible Mr. Limpett movie when I was a young girl, amongst many other treasures that were before my time and on a higher shelf than my realm of knowledge afforded.

He kindly brough the good stuff down within reach.

I almost told Riley that the fish was Mr. Limpett... I had to remember she's only 2 and has yet to see the movie. But, I know that someday, she will know who Mr. Limpett is. And I will try to convince her that we have seen him with our very own eyes.

By then, she will have seen a host of other movies or television programs that were passed on to me by my dad, too. Old ones. Good ones.

She will also know what Southern Gospel music is. We will leave the debate about what qualifies music as 'good" for another day... it is getting late :) I know there are some who may read this that do not share an appreciation  for The McKamey's
 (even though he probably finds himself humming a tune or two from time to time... not that he'd ever admit it....am I right Nick?)

Riley will know her papa, so she will know his music :) Just as the older kids already associate the two together.

First Random Share:
>>On a recent drive in the car we passed the father of one of Chandler's team mates. "He reminds me of Papa" Chandler said..."he's always playing Southern Gospel in his car, at the field"<<

When I saw Mr. Limpett today in the pond, I thought back to the excitement my dad had over sharing certain things in life with us. He has shared things with us from which he has already wrung much joy, the act of sharing bringing him even more joy.

This couldn't be more true of a good and godly heritage. A heritage that has tremendous value and is a treasure I hold close to my heart. I could talk about that long into the twilight.

But I won't.

Today- what I guess I am focused on, is that my dad wanted us to share in the things that he enjoys. He enjoys sharing good things with us. He 'gives us good gifts' (to speak with a King James accent).

I will forever link my dad with Walt Disney... indeed, they have a certain shared ingenuity.
Sure.
But I also remember the zeal with which dad led us through the gates to Epcot.
(yes, I could go for a metaphor about Heaven here... for he has given us the map to those gates with ten times the zeal... and perhaps on another day I will wax poetic about that too...) today, however, it is important to me that he enjoys a world that we are free to dream and invent in.

He has passed that appreciation on to my siblings, myself and my children.

I believe this quality too, - especially as related to Mr. Limpett- is  about my dad's appreciation for a good story, as well as good story telling; an affinity he and I share. I love that about him.

Second Random Share:
>>Around the ballpark, a certain young man and myself have an ongoing debate about whether Antarctica is a real place or not. (I maintain that Antarctica is a giant hoax) Recently, Logan heard me recruiting some 'collaborators' to my story... she said "That is exactly something Papa would do" And my heart smiled a little... I knew she was right.
Each time we talk-this kid and me- the story grows... the conspiracy theory expands.  I help explain to him what is already so clear to those of us who've discovered the truth about Antarctica. He continues to argue what he knows to be true, albeit with a hint of question in his voice...

Someday, he will know that Antarctica exists beyond any shadow of doubt...the world will be a more finite place. Perhaps though,  he will remember a time that someone tried to convince him otherwise...and see the fun in that... the thinking it made him do. Hopefully he will smile and hopefully pass the story telling game along... whether it be to deny Antarctica exists or to convince a pack of children that a whole race of miniature Indians live in their attic (one of my dad's stories... and I was convinced! So sad to discover they weren't real...) <<

To bring this to a close with one word, I suppose I'm thinking about the quality of Whimsy.

Fun-Loving may be another way to put it.

My dad has that. 

So does Clay.

So, when I take the turn to talk about the man with whom I share four children, I will prove true at least part of a cliche'- the one about us gals marrying someone who reminds us of daddy...

 (now hold up you two- I know you think you are as different as night and day, and that's just fine... but there are some similarities on MY list... and I'm the first thing ya'll have in common... so- let me try to explain...)

... the thing on my list about Clay is that he feeds ducks...and fish... and deer...and turtles, too...  with all the joy that Riley or any of the Big Kids do. (probably more actually)

And he enjoys watching our kids have a little simple fun.

I love that about him.

Last Random Share:
>>I told my mom recently about a walk we took as a family. We spotted ducks in the nearby pond. Clay insisted we get bread... (this wasn't his first time to a duck pond... he knew how to have a little fun)
I went in to get 'duck food' and came out with a bag of Cheez-It crackers... because, the only other store nearby was an expensive bakery... the croissants were more than $3 a piece...the cheesecake didn't seem duck friendly... but, No! Clay wanted to break bread with these ducks... he went back in and promptly purchased a bag of croissants to hand out to the children...to him, the fun was worth a small splurge...without a second thought.  <<

Today, as we stood watching Mr. Limpett swim in the restaurant pond, a waiter came up and handed us  a few sandwich rolls. "Would you like to feed some fish?" he asked Riley.

Yes!
Of course!

So we took the bread and began to commune with the fish in a way unique to broken bread - with a sense of awe & wonder that two vastly different worlds can meet- if only for a moment- on a bridge made out of bread. (another metaphor for a rainy day...)

As he went back to work, I overheard the bread bestowing waiter's co-worker remark:

 "Awww, you can tell you're a daddy!"

To which I simply add, EXACTLY.

So, we wished him a happy father's day as he returned to his tasks-at-hand.

And we went back to feeding fish.

When Riley- who throws awfully big chunks of bread(...chunks the size of entire sandwich rolls, in fact...)- ran out of bread to toss on the water, she asked for more.

To which her daddy gladly offered her a share of his portion.  "Here you go, baby."

Passing down the fun he was having- so that he could enjoy watching her have the same fun.

See? Similar... Fun-Loving.

Oh, wait- I think I see a connecting theme here., too.. a bring-it-all-down-to-a-redeeming-moral opportunity... I did not plan it... did not plan any moral at all actually, but alas:

Matthew 7:9“Which of you, if your son asks for bread, will give him a stone? 10Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake? 11If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him! 12So in everything, do to others what you would have them do to you, for this sums up the Law and the Prophets.

According to my clock, there's only a scant 15 minutes left on this special day for fathers.  I am blessed to have been raised by one of the good ones. I am further blessed to be partnered with another truly good one. I am undeserving to belong to the best one- a heavenly Father who gave both of these good 'gifts' to me. 

If your dad has left earth...if you are a single mom... if there are some really hard life lessons your dad could stand to learn... you are not an orphan and you are not alone... even the really good daddies are mere reflections of One far greater... a Father accessible to all... through the Body- that bread of Christ, broken to connect two vastly different worlds.

Yes, I believe that is the right note to end on.

Happy Father's Day (to all... )